JEFF DAVIS
ON HIS ELECTION AS PRESIDENT FOR SIX YEARS
Satan
was chain'd a thousand years,
We learn, from Revelation-
That he might not,
as it appears,
Longer "decieve the nation."
'Tis hard to say,
between the two,Which is the greater evil,
Six years of liberty, for you-
A
thousand for the Devil!
'Tis passing strange if you've no fears
Of being
hanged, within six years!
A hundred thousand rebels' ears,
Would not one-half
repay,
The widows' and the orphans' tears,
Shed for the slain, To-day:
The
blood of all those gallant braves,
Whom Southern traitors slew,
Cry sternly,
from their loyal graves,
For vengeance upon you;
And if you're not prepared
to die
The death of Haman, fly, Jeff-fly.
Fly traitor, to some lonely niche,
Far,
far beyond the billow;
Thy grave an ill-constructed ditch-
Thy sexton General
Pillow.
There may you return to rottenness,
By mortal unannoy'd,
Your ashes
undisturb'd, unless
Your grave is known to Floyd.
He'll surely trouble
your repose,
And come to steal your burial clothes.
EPITAPH
Pause
for an instant, loyal reader,
Here lies Jeff, the great seceder.
Above, he
always lied, you know,
And now the trai or lies below.
His bow was furnighed
with two strings,
He flattered crowds, and fawn'd on kings;
Repay'd his country's
care with evil;
And pray'd to God, and serv'd the devil.
The South could whip
the Yankee nation,
So he propos'd humiliation!
Their blessings were so everlasting,
'Twas
just the time, for prayer and fasting!
The record may be search'd in vain,
From
West Point Benedict to Cain,
To find a more atrocious knave,
Unless in Cesar
Borgia's grave.
